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The hot sun beat down on her bare criza shoulders. She talked a good game with Zazie, but she had about one-tenth of her best friend’s confidence. And Foster’s light, floral dansuri scent was positively intoxicating.

And now very close, as Foster squatted down next to her, determination etched on her pretty face, and reached for the pile of tissues. How the hell was this woman’s scent overpowering the garbage-stink flixy ? Was she magic? Krysten closed her eyes, breathing in every inch of Foster and letting her imagination run wild casting , when suddenly she remembered where they were…